Forced Underground
by Sarken
Summary: She saw the near future, though, when her lies would come back to her. An alternate ending to the second season episode Faith.


Title: Forced Underground  
  
Author: Sarken  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: Even less mine than usual, since this is an alternate ending/episode addition to "Faith." Also, I'd like to say that no views that may be expressed or suggested by this story belong to me. I believe in putting a part of me into my work, but I don't believe in forcing my opinions on others through my writing.  
  
Author's note: In the second season episode "After Hours", the show made use of a song by Over the Rhine. The title of this story makes a reference to the line from another of their songs, "All I Need Is Everything", that goes like this: "'Cause we can't force the truth out of town; only force it underground."  
  
***  
  
She sat alone on the bench, Bonny having left to identify the rapist. She sat there, alone, in her uniform pants, her white t-shirt, and her NYPD hoodie, looking out of place in the sharply contrasting navy blue and white clothes. She didn't look like a cop; she looked like a victim, but Faith wasn't supposed to look like a victim. She wouldn't want to look like a victim. To keep anyone else from seeing her in such a state, he walked over to her.  
  
"Hi," he said, softly. "Do you want to go home?"  
  
She obviously wanted to go home, but it had been necessary to break the silence somehow. Not that his voice did a very good job of it with how softly he was speaking. He spoke quietly, slowly, and gently as though he feared that the sound of his voice would intensify her pain. Although she didn't make a sound or so much as nod, he offered her both of his hands. He knew it hurt her to move, to breathe even, but she would never ask for help. Faith and he were alike; they didn't believe in asking for help. Their parents had trained them well.   
  
She reached up, took his hands, and let him pull her into a standing position. On the way, the ache of her bruised ribs became pure, screaming pain that ran through her entire body. Her head swam and she wondered if there was a way to get to a pharmacy before going home because the Lord knew she wouldn't be able to so much as lie down, let alone sleep, with this pain she was in. Little good having a prescription did at two o'clock in the morning when you didn't know if there was a twenty-four hour pharmacy between here and home. That probably meant braving the subway stairs an extra time, though, and given the choice, she'd rather go without sleep.  
  
She began walking toward the door, moving as she normally would and not shuffling along like an old woman, even though the latter would have caused slightly less pain. She slid her hands into her jacket pockets, managing not to wince as the motion made pain course through her body like blood through her veins. Several steps or twice as many old woman shuffles away from the door, she realized she would need her hands. She resigned herself to the pain and began to remove her right hand from her pocket, but Bosco took half as many steps to cover twice the ground and opened the door for her.  
  
She nodded a thank you and found out that even that motion hurt for some reason that had to be psychological. As she made her way down the three concrete steps, she tried to determine if there were any shortcuts to shorten her walking time and therefore decrease the pain. She couldn't recall any, but then Bosco's voice, frustratingly gentle, worried she might break but never pitying, reached her ears.   
  
"Wait here, I'll get the car." He walked away and she leaned against the building, not caring about how dirty the navy hoodie would be and how badly she would need to wash it and whether she had enough detergent to do a load of wash. Standing upright and still took more energy than she imagined.  
  
It wasn't until Bosco pulled up in his Mustang that she realized he was driving her home. She supposed she had known it subconsciously, but it hadn't clicked until he got out of the car and went to open the passenger door for her.   
  
In the car, he leaned forward and carefully watched for potholes as she sat back and stared out the window with unfocused eyes, not really seeing anything other than blurs of lights and colours. She saw the near future, though, when her lies would come back to her. She knew the delay in being honest with Fred was the only way she would carry through, but it seemed so wrong to tell Bosco the same tales. Fred had been happy and childishly unconcerned, but Bosco had taken a genuine interest and had spoken his mind. True, she had always disagreed on the surface, but inside she recognized the truth in what he said. She hadn't told him he was right because that would upset the balance; she always had to be right. Instead she'd offered shallow arguments and he had accepted them even as he fought them; he knew his job was to be wrong and irrational.  
  
"Bos," she said quietly, "will you pull over?"  
  
He frowned at how softly she'd pronounced his name, as if the hard letters even hurt her. "Why?" he asked, easing his foot off the gas slightly but not stopping. He feared that her stubbornness was kicking in and she wanted to walk the rest of the way.  
  
"We need to talk," she answered and he stopped, pretending to understand why they couldn't have a conversation as he drove. She didn't know what to tell him, but when he turned to face her, she decided that being blunt was best. "I didn't have a miscarriage."  
  
Bosco smiled until he understood what she meant. "You lied," he said as a heartbeat sent anger coursing through his veins. His heart beat again, pumping through him a curiosity that pushed the anger away. "Why?"  
  
She shrugged and winced as the motion reminded her of the pain she felt. "Convenience, I guess. It seemed like a good excuse, you know? It seemed like a good excuse."  
  
He wanted to tell her he didn't know, but couldn't get it past his lips. She'd used him; she'd lied to him after he'd worried himself sick. He'd felt sorry for her, thinking that maybe she realized she'd wanted the child only after losing it. No, he didn't think he'd ever know.  
  
"I didn't…I didn't want to disappoint you, Bosco, and if you thought I had a miscarriage instead of an abortion, I thought everything would be okay. I know what you think -- what you thought about me. I didn't want that to change. And I guess I thought of me like that, too, and I wanted to fool myself. I didn't want to tell you that you were right and I was wrong. I can't be wrong; don't you understand that? I can't just go and do something I know is wrong."  
  
"You're going to have the abortion," Bosco said numbly as he looked away.  
  
"I'm going home and telling Fred I had a miscarriage. Then, yes, I am going to have an abortion. And it's wrong, but this is one time I know I can't be right." She waited a few moments, not knowing how or whether to continue. "I had Emily when I was nineteen. That's why Fred and I married and that's why I only had one semester of philosophy. I chose to be right then. I can't do it again."  
  
"That makes it okay, since one right cancels out a wrong?"  
  
"Nothing will ever make it okay." She sat silently for seven times eternity. "I'm scared."  
  
"What do you want me to do about it; hold your hand as you kill your child? Whisper, 'It'll be all right,' although I almost want you to rot in hell because you're so wrong?" Beneath the surface of his unemotional voice, he was angry. He could only show it in his words tonight.  
  
His words were all it took. She started to cry silently for what she had already done and what she would do. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe that is what I want."  
  
"I'll do anything for you, but I can't -- I won't do that. I don't know if I should be sorry." He put the car in drive and let her cry as he took the long route to her apartment, circling a few blocks at the end so she could put on the façade she needed to face her husband.   
  
She hesitated by the car after getting out, letting the rain soak her. "Don't be sorry."  
  
"I will be anyway."  
  
:end: 


End file.
